Moments
by Trixx
Summary: Five Alternate realities bound together by moments.


1.

It was a moment.

The first time Logan Echolls saw Veronica Mars, she was wearing her soccer uniform, knee socks pulled up a little too high and her hair in a pony tail. She'd entranced him, making him unable to look away as she'd jogged across the field.

A voice broke the spell, causing him to flinch before staring resolutely up into his father's foreboding countenance. He'd turned away from where she was laughing and joyous in the center of the field, surrounded by her friends, and moved to rejoin his family in the car.

He'd never admit it, not even to himself, but he could see her in his mind's eye, laughing and hugging her friends - free. He had been so envious of her. He wanted to be like her, happy and smiling.

Turning around quickly, he peered back over his shoulder, and picked her out of the large group of girls easily. She was the one with the radiant smile. He closed his eyes and turned around, amending his thoughts. He didn't want to be _like_ her. He wanted to _be _her.

2.

When Logan thought about kissing Veronica, his stomach tightened into knots, his hands shook, and his mouth went numb. He was terrified of his almost-girlfriend in a way that defied description.

She was smart, pretty, witty, and better with the quips than he himself was. She lived her life the way he had always wanted to, balls to the wall. She gave as good as she got, took no prisoners, and wasn't afraid to say anything to anyone. Veronica was a holy terror from the top of her golden-blonde head to the tips of her slender, pink-polished toes.

Veronica had a way about her that had guys kneeling in supplication and worshipping at the altar of her profound grace. She brought out the best and worst in them. He wondered every day why she consented to date him, lay-about that he was. He didn't deserve her; he could never be good enough for her.

The way she looked at him was enough to almost convince him otherwise, to almost convince him he was a precious thing to be revered and stared at on a regular basis. It was one of the leading causes of his recurrent dry mouth and stumbling feet. He wasn't sure how he'd ever find the courage to press their lips together to seal the bloom of new love with a tender first kiss.

He should have known that she would take matters into her own hands. Butterflies tried to crawl out of his stomach and into his throat, into a mouth so dry that his tongue felt thick. She turned her head towards him at their lunch table, the whole table laughing at her witty banter, and raised an eyebrow before she pressed her lips to his.

It was a moment.

3.

It's a moment.

Everything stopped around them, their friends frozen in shock as they moved closer together, bodies pressing tightly against each other. They aren't sure what they're doing or why. They only know that they must - they have to press, take, need, want.

They part for a moment, their eyes meeting in the silence before smiles light their faces, all flushed cheeks and uneven breathing. Slowly, they move back from each other, back to their respective places in their small circle of friends.

At fifteen they were much too old to be playing spin the bottle - much too old to hold onto old hatreds and spite. They hadn't dated since they were thirteen; it was high time they'd gotten over their passionate break up. Their eyes met one more time, before he took the bottle and his turn spinning, both grinning as the bottle once again landed on her.

Veronica had never given him tongue when they had dated in Junior High. She'd been too shy, too innocent, to French a boy, even if he was her boyfriend. An evil grin lit his features as he moved closer, taking over her personal space as he slowly licked his lips. He leaned in closer and licked her closed mouth. The devil-may-care look in her eye gave him a second of warning before her hands were buried in his hair and she was pulling him closer, her tongue gaining entrance to his mouth at his gasp of surprise.

Lilly sat two people over and rolled her eyes at their antics. It was only been a matter of time before her two passionate best friends hooked up again. Maybe this time they could make it all the way until next week before they broke up in a spectacular explosion of teenage angst.

She watched them kiss for a moment before giving their relationship no more than a month. She knew her friends all too well. Veronica Mars was more than a match for Logan Echolls' bad-boy ways. The show was definitely going to be interesting.

4.

Moving on stealthy feet around the edge of the dance floor, he watched her. Surrounded by a circle of friends, arms upraised, eyes closed, head thrashing to the driving beat. She looked lost to the world around her, lost in the music curling its way around her.

He was transfixed on the gyration of her hips, the little snap as she spun around. He felt himself harden in his jeans, his hips unconsciously mimicking her movements, the small jerks of his hips keeping in time with hers. He could almost feel her wet heat surrounding his cock, tight, gripping him until his eyes crossed.

He moved closer to her, invading her space while he ignored her friends and ignored the looks they sent his way as he ground his body against her. She was lost in his touch, moving slickly against him, grinding back against his hardness. Her head fell back onto his shoulder, eyes still closed, lost in oblivion. He was sure she wasn't aware of who he was. He was just a willing body to move against, to find relief with.

He pressed his lips against her ear, a low growl escaping his throat. "Logan." The word was succinct in its simplicity, but full of meaning he was sure she would catch.

He wasn't disappointed as she spun around in his arms, mouth falling open in shock, before a huge smile lit her face. "Veronica." She smirked at him, memories, shared and separate, moving between them in that moment.

Pulling her firmly against him, he moved, drawing her back into the dance, all words forgotten as their bodies remembered the heat and passion of their earlier machinations. It had been too long since he'd held her in his arms, the vibrant heat of her body setting his aflame with the desire to take, have, own her in ways no one else would ever be able to.

It was a moment.

5.

It is a bunch of moments strung together to make one complete memory. He remembers their first kiss, the first time they'd broken up, their first fuck, the first time they made love, the first time they got married, and the first time they divorced. He remembers the second time they got married, and how they'd promised each other it would be forever, and that nothing could ever separate them again. He remembers the look on her face as she walked out the door the second time. He remembers the feelings when she'd walked back in mere months later --disbelief, relief, shock, and anger. So much anger in their lives, coupled with so much misery.

Logan remembers the first child they'd almost had, and the way she'd sobbed against him when she miscarried in her fourth month. He remembers the sorrow that plagued her every waking moment for months, and the underlying fear that it would happen all over again. He remembers her smile when she learned she was going to have another child, bright and joyous lighting up the room around her, and he remembered the fear that maybe this time she would break.

He remembers visiting her in the hospital every day when she had come close to losing this child as well. Hospitalized and hooked up to machines, he'd gone to see her, and loved her more, despite the fear clenching his belly and heart. He remembers the bliss on her face when the nurse placed their tiny infant son in her arms.

There are memories of anger, fear, and despair mixed in with the good ones, mixed, shaken, and stirred until they're all a jumble in his head, and he has a hard time remembering the difference between good and bad. Logan can look at his son and remember the good, but the pain of losing one child and then a second two years after his son had been born reminds him of the pain. He'd convinced her that they had only been meant to have one child, and he had wanted to believe it as much as she had -- even if he had never fully managed to convince himself.

The day he walked out on his family was the turning point in his life. He was tired. Tired of hurting her and hurting himself, tired of coming so close to the edge of hurting his son and becoming his father. That was the third time they'd gotten a divorce.

When they married again three years later, both of them in their late thirties with so much history behind them, he'd been convinced that this was it. This was the time that it would stick. Neither one of them had any fear left in their hearts. Neither one would walk away this time.

He had been wrong.

He stood, drowning in memories and rain, the good and the bad mixing to make him ache. He looked down at the casket, his son's hand in his own. They had only been married again for three months. Three whole months of being married to his best friend. Three whole months of being happy and content for the first time in his life, and she'd left him again.

He shook his head in anger at himself, in anger at her, taking time to pull his memories around him like a steel cloak, making him impervious to the pity surrounding him. He gathered his son in his arms and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek before he moved away from the grave.

It was a moment.


End file.
